Prayers for the Dead (16 page)

“What do you think, Farrell?” Decker asked.

Gaynor said, “Dr. Azor Sparks had an alter ego — leather boy Ace Sparks. Maybe bikers did him in.”

“
Bikers?
” Martinez asked.

Decker filled them in on the card with the Harley logo — Sparks’s weekend entertainment.

“I like bikers as the bad guys,” Marge said.

“But why would they do that?” Decker said.

“’Cause they’re bikers,” Oliver said. “They’re assholes.”

“Now I know this is far-fetched,” Gaynor said, pointing as he talked. “But suppose Sparks was operating a crank lab—”

The other detectives groaned. Gaynor said, “Can you hear me out?”

“Shoot, Farrell,” Decker said.

“Maybe he decided to shut it down,” Gaynor said. “His crank lab, that is. And maybe the bikers didn’t like it.”

No one spoke.

“It’s not likely, granted. But we’re just throwing out ideas. Why not that?”

“Sparks as a
crank
supplier?” Webster shook his head.

Oliver smiled. “A world-famous surgeon, a renowned researcher and chemist, a deeply religious man, and a meth pusher. Which one
doesn’t
belong?”

“We all like bikers as bad guys because they fit our notions of villains,” Decker said. “But that takes our concentration away from other possibilities.”

“So who do
you
see as the bad guy, Pete?” Marge asked.

“Like I said before, a couple of the kids have money problems. As a matter of fact, son Paul called Daddy up during the research meeting, specifically asking to borrow money. According to Paul, his dad agreed to help. But what if he was lying. What if this time, Sparks refused to come through with the money.”

“
In
-surance!” Oliver stated, sounding like a blackjack dealer.

“You got it!” Decker said.

“What about his will?” Marge added.

“Good,” Decker said. “We’re back to basics now. Who has the most to gain from Sparks’s death?”

“More paperwork for me to do tomorrow,” Gaynor said. “Bank accounts, insurance policies, wills and codicils. I’m in heaven.”

“Sparks’s estate lawyer is a man named William Waterson. He belongs to Sparks’s church.” Decker felt his stomach grumble. Hungry but too queasy to eat. “Farrell, give him a call. Not that he’ll tell you anything. But sound him out anyway.” To Marge, he said, “You tell me Sparks had a lot to gain with the production of this drug he developed.”

“Curedon,” Oliver said.

“I’m wondering what happens to Curedon now that Sparks is gone.” Decker rubbed his eyes. “Ever find out where Fisher/Tyne is located?”

“The corporate office is in Delaware, some of the labs are in Virginia. But there’s a regional office with labs here, too… in an industrial park in Irvine.” Marge turned to Oliver. “It ain’t Florida, Scotty. But then again, there’re no gators in the waters.”

“There’s
nothing
in their waters,” Oliver groused. “I hate those spanking new corporate developments with their pseudo-Hawaiian palm tree landscaping and their oh-so-clean manmade waterfalls. Everything’s so theme-park plastic. Makes me want to puke.”

“I’d rather work there than a dump in the inner city,” Gaynor said.

“Ah God, bury me if I ever feel that way—”

“Scotty,” Marge chided.

“No, it’s okay,” Gaynor said. “I understand what Scott’s saying. And once, I even felt like that, too. But then you age and your perspective changes—”

“No, no!” Oliver made a cross with his two index fingers, held it up to Gaynor. “Shoo! I ate garlic! Go away!”

Decker said, “Be on the road by ten.”

“Will do,” Marge said.

Decker said, “Bert and Tom, tomorrow you do alibi check. I want a timetable for all the major players. Where they were before, during, and after Sparks’s murder.”

“Got it.”

“And I get the paperwork, right?” Gaynor said.

“It’s all yours, Farrell.”

“Can I use the computer in your office?”

“Farrell, we’ve got six computers sitting idle in the squad room.”

Gaynor replied, “Yours is hooked up to more information data banks.”

Decker said, “Okay, Gaynor, when I leave, you can use the computer in my office.”

“What are you going to do, Loo?”

“I’ve got an interview scheduled with Myron Berger in an hour. Maybe I’ll snag a few hours between Berger, my paperwork, and Azor Sparks’s memorial service.”

“They’re doing a memorial service
before
the viewing, the rosary, and funeral?” Martinez questioned.

“It’s not a Catholic service, Bert. It’s a Fundamentalist service. The doctor’s church.”

Martinez said, “Still, they didn’t want to wait until the body was released and do a funeral?”

“Apparently not.”

“When’s the memorial service?”

“Three
P.M.
”

“That should be interesting,” Marge said. “Everyone crammed together in one spot. See how they all react with one another.”

Decker said, “That’s why I’m going.”

At first, he
thought the noise was his brain bouncing against his cranium. Then he realized that someone was at the door. Bram lifted his head from his folded arms, blinked back nausea. He had fallen asleep at his desk.

His mouth felt like sandpaper, his limbs ached, his body a plexus of raw synapses. Fingers crawling like spider legs, he felt around the desktop for his glasses. Found them and slipped them on. Immediately, everything came too clearly into focus. He stood on unstable legs, went to open the door.

Luke. Still had on the same sloppy sweater and jeans. By now, he smelled pretty rank. They both did.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

Bram looked at his watch. “I had to get up for six o’clock Mass anyway. I need a shower something awful. I can’t believe I fell asleep. You want some tea, bro?”

“Sure, bro.” Luke skipped around a floor covered with books and papers as Bram trudged over to the water machine. The priest took out a couple of tea bags, dropped them into plastic cups and doused them with hot water. “Sit. What’s going on at home?”

Luke parked himself on a folding chair. “Eva left around two, Mag and Mike went to sleep about a half hour later. Me? I’ve just been driving around and around and around and around…”

After handing his brother his tea, Bram sat at his desk. “You might try going home.”

“I’ve got a great idea, Abram. Why don’t
I
put on your collar and conduct Mass. And you go home to Dana—”

“Lucas—”

“What did she say when you called her?”

“What do you think? She’s worried sick about you—”

“Betcha she invited you over—”

“Don’t start—”

“She
didn’t
ask you to come over?”

Bram said nothing. Luke clapped his hands, pointed to his brother. “Gotcha. Did you go?”

“No, I didn’t
go
! It wasn’t my place, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood to wax pastoral.” Bram’s face hardened. “You should have called her.
You
. Not
me
. You should go home and be with her right now.”

“You be with her. After all, she was your girlfriend.”

Bram closed his eyes, dropped his head in his hands. Then he looked up. “That was almost two decades ago. Things
change
in twenty years. For instance, I wasn’t a priest in high school—”

“Just calm her down for me, bro.”

“I’m tired of calming her down, Luke. Truth be told, I’ve had it up to here with Dana.” Bram brushed his forehead with his hand. “I’m sick to death of being your go-between.
You
married her. Not me.
Deal
with it.”

“All right, all right, I’ll go home.” Luke squirmed in his seat, but gave no indication of rising. He sipped tea, eyed his brother through swollen eyes. “Who the hell would murder Dad?”

Bram shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I mean I’m so dumbfounded, I don’t even know how to ask the right questions.”

“Don’t ask questions,” Bram said. “As a matter of fact, don’t think. It’ll drive you crazy. Let the police think. Let the police ask the questions.”

“I just wished the lieutenant would have talked more. Told us more. Not the gory details. But
some
details. Some theories. And I sat there like a turnip or worse, being a wiseass.” His eyes became wet. “He should have told us more.”

“He came to my office a little while ago.”

“What did he want?”

“He asked about Dad and his weekend warriors.”

“How’d he find out about
that
?”

“Dad had cards printed up. A Harley logo with the name
ACE SPARKS
printed on it, can you believe that?”

“You’re kidding.” Luke settled back in his chair. “Old Azor had a fantasy life?”

“Looks that way.”

“That’s wild.” Luke smiled. “Maybe he had some busty biker mama on the side.”

“You’re obscene.”

“Don’t they say that the biggest sinners always pray the loudest?”

Bram started to rebuke his brother, but instead laughed softly. Then he grew serious. “What a crazy world we live in… where some animal could wipe out such a great man.”

“You think it was a random act of violence, then.”

“Yes, of course.” Bram paused. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

The room went quiet.

Luke said, “Paul got hold of William Waterson, by the way. He stopped by to express his
deepest
sympathies.”

“That was nice of him.”

“Waterson said he’d take care of the funeral… pay the expenses out of Dad’s estate… which of course all goes to Mom.”

“That makes sense.”

“It’s a real
big
estate, bro. We couldn’t get the exact figures out of him, but it was clear that Dad was worth a
lot
of money. More than we…”

Bram said, “Mom’s going to need lots of help and support now. It’s good she won’t have to worry about money.”

“I’m just wondering if Mom’s up to it?”

The priest waited for his twin to continue.

“Mom isn’t Dad,” Luke stated. “A fortune suddenly drops in her lap, she isn’t used to dealing with that kind of balance sheet… I don’t want people to rip her off, that’s all.”

“She’s not helpless without Dad—”

“I didn’t say she was.”

“She handled all the household finances—”

“That’s
not
the same thing as investing and maintaining a seven-figure bank account. Dad’s always taken care of her, Golden. I’m suggesting we keep a watch over her.”

“Fine. We’ll keep a watch over her.”

Luke scratched his head. “Waterson mentioned something about an insurance policy also.”

“Good.”

“Six million bucks, to be exact.”

“
Whoa!
” Slowly, Bram sat back in his chair. “Man, that is a
lot
of money.”

“A proverbial shitload.”

“I don’t recall the word
shitload
in the Book of Proverbs, but yes, that’s a tremendous haul.” Bram paused. “That is a
large
insurance policy. The premiums must have been enormous. I wonder why Dad did that when he had so much in the bank. I love Mom, but she doesn’t spend on anything except food. What in the world is she going to do with six million dollars?”

“Mom’s not the beneficiary.”

Bram stared at his brother.

“Six million… six kids.” Luke shrugged carelessly. “Dad was always an even-handed guy.”

Bram opened, then closed his mouth. “You’re
kidding
!”

“You should have been there when Waterson told us. Paul’s eyelids were beating so fast, he just about flew away.”

Again, the office went quiet.

Luke said, “A rather fortunate windfall for him—”

“Luke—”

“The man is in deep debt.”

“David and Eva aren’t doing so hot, either.”

“Nothing like Paul. He’s
drowning
in red ink.”

“Your insinuations are ugly.”

“So you’re better than me. We already know that.”

Bram stared at his brother, then rubbed his eyes. “You want some advice?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Truth be told, Lucas, even I, the saint of St. Thomas’s, entertained the same thought as you about Paul. But I’m smart enough not to verbalize it. Because once you talk, you can’t take it back. Do you ever think before you speak?”

“Nah, you do enough of that for the both of us.”

“You say things, Luke. I know what you mean. But no one else does—”

“Mind you, I really don’t think Paul killed Dad for money. But hey, a lot stranger things have happened.”

Bram looked at the crucifix on his wall. “Why do I bother?”

Again, the room went silent.

Luke looked at his hands. “So what are you going to do with the money?”

“What?”

“The
money
, Bram. What are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t want to talk about money.”

“Well, it’s better than talking about death!” Suddenly, Luke sprang up and leaned against the back wall, burying his face in his hands.

Sluggishly, Bram sighed, checked his watch. Half hour until Mass. He rose from his desk, went over to his brother, and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Lucas, I know you’re hurting. I know that wisecracks are your way of dealing with pain.”

Luke turned around, wiped his eyes. “How much do I owe you, Herr Doktor?”

The priest looked his twin in the eye, seeing his own tired reflection. “Bro, listen to me. Lieutenant Decker is nobody’s fool. He is a very, very… very, very
smart
man. You keep talking about money, throwing stuff around about Paul, trying to joke your way out of your pain, you’re going to tweak his antenna.”

“What do I care? I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course, you didn’t
do
anything. But look at it from his perspective. A weird homicide like Dad’s. First thing police will do is scrutinize the family. You add to that an… an outrageous insurance policy that makes us all rich—”

“Millionaires to be exact.”

Bram hit his forehead. “Am I getting through at all?”

“Not much.”

“Lucas, the police can get very nasty. I don’t need the hassle. And you certainly don’t need it.”